


Cup of Comfort

by Flames and Fairy Tales (Flames_and_Fairy_Tales)



Series: Caffeine Addicts [4]
Category: Lockwood & Co. - Jonathan Stroud
Genre: Discussion of Death, Gen, Jealous Lockwood, Quill is turning into a therapist or something in this series, Set during TCS, mention of violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-29
Updated: 2019-03-29
Packaged: 2019-12-26 09:21:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,308
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18280280
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Flames_and_Fairy_Tales/pseuds/Flames%20and%20Fairy%20Tales
Summary: When the body of Harold Mailer is found, Quill spends the entire night searching for Lucy. She turns up in an unexpected place.





	Cup of Comfort

Quill’s heart was firmly lodged in his throat when he pressed the buzzer next to the black front door at the end of that morning. He had barely slept the past few days, and he knew he would soon need to give into the exhaustion threatening to overwhelm him, but he couldn’t bring himself to even take a power nap before checking everywhere he could think of.

The feeling of dread had been building ever since the DEPRAC agent-team he had been leading on behalf of the Fittes agency was called in to escort a group of police officers to examine a crime scene in Clerkenwell. The initial report was about a nightly disturbance involving a magnesium flare and a conservatory in Clerkenwell, but when they arrived, they found traces of a chase that lead back over a garden wall, through a dilapidated vicarage, and into the old churchyard of St James Church, where the cold body of Harold Mailer sat on a bench.

Quill had been of little use during the first examination of the scene. The find of the body had shaken him to the core and planted the first seeds of worry that would grow into barely staved off panic as time passed. He stood on the sideline, frozen, while the agents under his leadership scanned the area for signs of the new ghost, and covered Mailer with a silver threaded sheet after the police officers had taken photos.

He didn’t know where Lucy was.

The prior morning Lucy had called him from a payphone in Clerkenwell. She told him she had been robbed of the ghost skull that morning and had an inkling about who was involved with the theft. Quill had gathered she would meet up with Harold Mailer in the little churchyard to receive information.

Of course it relieved him that Lucy’s body hadn’t been sitting besides Mailer’s on that stupid bench in the middle of the old graveyard, but there were obvious signs of a struggle - footsteps in the tall grass, a broken window in the vicarage, and worst of all: blood on the garden wall - and Lucy was missing. Chances were that the people who had killed Mailer had gone after her, and he wasn’t sure she had escaped them.

Quill’s mind had gone into overdrive, coming up with all kinds of scenarios that ended with Lucy dead in a back alley some, and the moment the DEPRAC team finished up the crime scene investigation, he took off to search for her. In the following hours he went to the locations he knew she frequented, stopping by the cafe they’d meet up for coffee now and then, checking the gym she used to practise her rapier work, and even going back to his own flat in the hope she had looked for shelter there.

 

When he still had not found Lucy nearly twelve hours later, Quill was getting desperate. 35 Portland Row was his last stop before he was going to go back to DEPRAC to report her missing so that they could launch an official investigation.

The door opened a few moments after Quill had pressed the buzzer, but they felt like centuries to his racing mind. George Cubbins was the one who opened the door, appearing in the opening. He looked the way he always did, but now the strange stains on his sweater were accompanied by a suspicious look in his eyes as he recognised who was standing on the doorstep.

“Is she here?” Quill asked before George could even open his mouth.

“Is who here? Did your girlfriend run away Kipps?” George snarked, and anger boiled up in Quill’s chest.

“Just _don’t_ , Cubbins, I am not in the mood for your shit,” he growled. “Is Lucy here?” The expression on George’s face changed. The tiny quirk of the corner of his mouth melted away and made place for cold suspicion.

“Why does Lucy’s location matter to you, Kipps?” he asked, a sharper edge creeping into his voice.

“Because DEPRAC found the corpse of the man she was supposed to meet on a bench last night, and she’s been missing ever since. That’s why,”  Quill snapped back, “If she’s not here just tell me and I’ll be on my way again.”

George opened his mouth to speak - perhaps to tell Quill to get lost - but then Lockwood appeared out of a door further down the hallway.

“Who is at the door, George?” he asked, adjusting his tie.

“Quill Kipps,” George called back, not even bothering to hide the disdain in his tone.

There was a screech of wooden chair legs on linoleum, and a head was stuck around the door post of the room Lockwood had just appeared out of.

“Quill?” Lucy asked, and the relief that flooded through Quill as he heard her voice almost made his knees buckle. He shouldered his way past George, who protested loudly, and made his way towards the younger girl.

The two of them were never really touchy-feely with each other, preferring to keep their personal space intact, but Lucy didn’t protest when he pulled her into his arms. She returned the hug, wrapping her arms around his waist and giving him a short squeeze.

“What happened to you last night, Lucy?” Quill asked her as he let go. Lucy stepped back, and wiped her hair out of her face, revealing her expression. She did not look good. She was as bruised as a fallen apple, grazes and scrapes littering her exposed skin, and her arm was tightly bandaged with white medical gauze. He could also read her exhaustion from her face, the bags under her eyes were worse than even his, and her expression was subdued.

 

And yet, she looked more alive than she ever had since he had gotten to know her in the past few months. Despite her beaten up state, there was a glimmer in her eyes that he had only seen once before, two days earlier, when she had been working with Lockwood and Co on the Ealing Cannibal case.

 

“I found Harold,” Lucy said softly, “I went to meet him at the time we agreed on, but he was already-” She broke off and swallowed audibly. “I spoke to his ghost, he said something about ‘the place of blood’... God, I didn’t even report it, he was there all night”

“He wasn’t,” Quill assured her. “I was with the team that found him. But maybe we shouldn’t be having this conversation standing in the middle of a hallway.”

 

Lucy nodded and already turned around to lead him further into the house when she hesitated. She glanced at Lockwood and George - who were standing near a side table with a crystal skull lamp on it, watching her and Quill with undisguised incomprehension - and then back at Quill. She had realized it wasn’t her place to invite him into the house anymore.

 

Lockwood recognized her embarrassment too. He shook off his bafflement as easily as if he were taking off his coat, and swept forward.

“Would you join us for a cup of tea, Kipps?” he asked in an impressive attempt to sound cordial, despite their last meeting ending with a blow. Lockwood brushed past and heading towards the door he and Lucy had appeared out of earlier.

“I’d prefer coffee actually,” Quill muttered as he followed along.

 

The kitchen of 35 Portland Row was strange, to say the least. Fruit bowls and cereal boxes competed for space with satchels of salt and iron, a forgotten kitbag lay beside the stove and the white tablecloth on the table was covered in doodles and messages that ranged in topics from grocery lists to case notes. Quill gave a little snort at the sight. Yeah, this was _exactly_ what he expected from Lockwood and co, the kitchen was an absolute mess. And yet, he had to admit that it had a certain charm.

 

“You look terrible Quill,” Lucy said as she sat down at the table. Lockwood busied himself with making coffee and putting on water for tea, but Quill suspected that he was listening to every word. George was having a harder time shaking off his surprise, and he walked past them with a dark expression on his face, disappearing into an unobtrusive door that lead down to the basement.

 

“Thanks Lucy,” Quill replied to Lucy’s remark, biting back a small smile at the way her blush bloomed across her cheeks when she realized how rude her comment sounded. “That’s what happens when you spent the night searching for someone. Didn’t exactly have time to go home to shave and take a nap.” Which meant he was left with dark bags under his eyes, messy hair from running his hand through it one too many times, and scratchy stubble, but he was too happy to have found Lucy to care much about his disheveled appearance.

 

“No, I mean…” Lucy pointed to a spot on her own cheek, and Quill realized she was talking about the bruise he had gained two nights ago.

“Oh, that.” He had forgotten about the small injury, but his stubble wasn’t enough to hide the now purple spot on his cheek. He shot a quick glance in Lockwood’s direction. The young man had stiffened up and Quill wondered what would happen if he told Lucy the truth. Deciding it was best not to pick at that particular scab, he turned back to Lucy.

 

“Got hit during a job” he said shortly.

“What? Why?”

“It… the client didn’t like the way I was trying to make a point. It’s not important.”

Lucy seemed unsure on whether she should drop the topic or not, her eyebrows knitting together in concern.

“But-”

“It’s fine. I’m more worried about you, Lucy. What happened last night?” Quill asked her again, changing the topic and picking their previous conversation back up again.

 

Lucy cast her eyes down to the table cloth, a dark shadow passing over her face.

“It was a set up,” she started slowly, “somehow they found out Mailer talked to me, or maybe- maybe they were already planning to…” her voice died and she had to swallow again before she could continue. “He was already dead when I arrived, and after talking to his ghost, three men showed up and I ran. They were probably there all along, but I hadn’t noticed them. God I should have known…”

 

Lucy bit her lip, unable to speak more, and wrapped her arms around her stomach as if to protect it. Quill recognized the look on her face, the way she avoided his eyes and bend under an invisible weight that forced her to hunch in on herself. How often had he looked like that himself, he wondered, after losing a teammate, or one of the children under his supervision?

 

“Don’t do that to yourself, Lucy,” he said softly, trying to pull her out of her thoughts before she got lost in them. It was never good to dwell on the deceased, it led your mind to dark places. It was so easy to drown in grief and self loathing and the overwhelming feeling of helplessness that came with the unexpected death of an acquaintance, and he wasn’t about to let Lucy taste the bitterness that had tainted him. “You were not the one who ended his life,”

“He was there because of me,” Lucy tried, but Quill resolutely shook his head.

“No, he was there because he let greed get the better of him,” he said adamantly. For a moment Lucy didn’t react,, but then she gave a shallow nod and wiped her hair away from her face, revealing a scrape he hadn’t seen before in the process.

Lockwood chose that moment to turn around and hand Quill his cup of coffee. He gave Lucy a mug of steaming tea and poured himself one too,  but didn’t move to sit down with them. Instead he leant against the counter, legs crossed at the ankles watching them with a carefully blank face. Quill raised an eyebrow at him, but Lockwood turned his face away to avoid his gaze.

With a roll of the eyes Quill turned back to Lucy, who was too busy staring at her mug to have noticed the exchange between them.

“Where did you go after escaping those men?” he asked her.

“Here,” Lucy replied, “I couldn’t go home. Those people had taken the skull, they know where I live.”

For a moment all he could do was stare at her. “It’s over three miles from Clerkenwell to Marylebone,” he said after a moment. “Three miles, and you traveled all that way with a knife wound? Why not go to a police station? Hell why didn’t you go to my flat? I showed you where the key and the first aid kit are.”

Finally the studious unconcern on Lockwood’s face slipped. His expression grew darker, and when he finally spoke there was a sharp edge to his voice that Quill hadn’t heard since they had made  that stupid bet about the boneglass the summer before. “There will always be a safe place for Lucy at Portland Row, Kipps.”

“I’m sure, Tony” Quill said dryly, “but my flat is about a mile away from the Fittes Furnaces.” That was logic Lockwood couldn’t refute, and he turned his attention back to his tea, the top of his ears growing a little red.

“I didn’t think about it,” Lucy said. “Besides, it was the middle of the night, you were out working and I quite literally was a bloody mess. Would your doorman even have let me in?”

Quill snorted.  “As if you’d let Jameson stop you, you’ve slipped past him before. Besides, it’s a nightwatch kid that watches the the lobby during the night, they tend to focus more on the dead than the living.”

 

She flushed at that, probably remembering the way she had stormed into his flat two days prior, and took a quick sip of her tea.

“I didn’t think about it,” she repeated again, “I was scared and tired, and I knew Portland Row would-” she didn’t finish her sentence, but she didn’t have to, for once Quill felt like he could see straight through her. A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth, but he bit it back and tried to sound scolding.

“It would have been wiser to go somewhere closer Lucy.” he said sternly. She gave a solemn nod. “But I’m glad you are okay.”

 

The conversation lapsed after that as each of them focussed on their beverages. Lockwood had made a good cup of coffee, but the caffeine wasn’t enough to stave off the exhaustion that was slowly catching up with Quill now that he wasn’t spurred on by worry and adrenaline anymore. He caught himself nodding off above his nearly empty mug, and quickly finished it.

 

“You should go to DEPRAC, Lucy,” Quill said as he put his mug on the table, covering a note about the inner workings of a Rotwell gadget he didn’t understand. Lockwood looked up sharply, but Lucy was frowning at him too.

“To DEPRAC?” she repeated. “What for?”

“They are looking for the agent involved with last night’s incident,” Quill explained, “the homeowners whose conservatory you blew up have given a description, and it will only be a matter of time before Barnes connects the dots and comes knocking. It’s better to go yourself and give a statement.”

“But I can’t just go up to them and say I wanted to talk to Mailer about black market stuff! Me owning a Type Three is probably illegal in _ten_ different ways!” Lucy protested. Lockwood’s eyes widened as he processed that Quill knew about the skull, but didn’t say anything.

 

“I’d say about twenty,” Quill said with a snort, and Lucy rolled her eyes.

“Exactly my point, I can’t go there and incriminate myself.”

“I never said you had to.”

“What are you suggesting then?” Lockwood asked, joining in on the conversation for the first time. His voice wasn’t sharp anymore, but suspicion still shimmered through in his tone.

“It’s quite simple.” He paused for a moment. “You were meeting him for a date.”

 

Both Lucy and Lockwood stared at him as if he had just set water on fire.

“A date?” Lucy repeated rather disbelievingly.

“Yes.  It’s a known fact among the furnace workers - if not half the agents of London - that Harold Mailer had a major crush on you, Lucy.”

 

Quill chuckled softly as Lucy’s cheek slowly grew a brilliant red colour that rivaled that of a strawberry.

“I… I don’t- On me?”

“Yes, that’s not so hard to believe is it? You’re an interesting girl,” Quill said. Lockwood nodded his head in agreement before catching himself, and Quill could swear the tips of his ears were growing darker too.

“Point is, it wouldn’t be that strange for a young agent and a furnace worker to meet after dusk in Clerkenwell, one of London’s safer areas, if they were supposed to go on a date.”

“I suppose that’s true,” Lucy said after a moment of consideration. She turned to look at Lockwood, possibly to ask for his opinion, but Lockwood was staring off into space.

 

A tense silence hung in the kitchen which was only broken when the door to the basement swung open

“Lockwood, the paperwork is done, so if you want to go to Lucy’s-” Holly stopped talking when she entered the kitchen,, looking between Lockwood and Quill with widening eyes. It seemed like she expected that at any moment one of them could attack the other.

“I didn’t know you were still here, Quill,” she started. Her eyes roamed through the kitchen, as if she was looking for a weapon to use if she needed to jump in between him and Lockwood.

 

“I was actually just leaving,” Quill said, getting up from his chair.

“Oh, I see,” Holly said, her shoulders dropping in relief. “Do you want me to walk you out?”

“No, I will Holly, thank you,” Lockwood cut in, stepping away from the counter. Without another word he swept out of the kitchen, leaving Quill to follow behind. He gave Lucy’s shoulder a squeeze as he passed her, and told her he’d call the following day before leaving the kitchen as well. As he closed the door behind him, he could hear Holly bombard Lucy with questions, and he sincerely hoped she wouldn’t bring up the incident between him and Lockwood at the furnaces either.

 

Lockwood was waiting next to the front door, one hand already on the doorknob. He didn’t look at Quill when he approached, keeping his eyes on the rug.

“I’m sorry,” Lockwood said quietly. His knuckles grew white as he clutched the doorknob, but it was the only tell Quill could recognize. “I shouldn’t have hit you.”

“And I shouldn’t have goaded you like that,” Quill replied with a sigh. He took a moment to brush back the short strands of hair that had finally given up their desperate attempt to stay styled and now rested on his forehead. “We’re both old and wise enough not to turn this into another grudge, Lockwood.”

 

Lockwood met his eyes and gave a short nod.  He opened the door and stepped aside to let Quill through, nodding again as a send-off. Quill returned it and stepped out into the sunlight that lit Portland Row. He walked down the path to the main road, but when he was halfway stopped and turned back.

 

“Lockwood,” he called. The door, which hadn’t fully closed - opened again, and Lockwood frowned at him.

“What?”

“If you want Lucy to stay for good, tell her that. You might be surprised what a little honesty might do.” With that he finally took his leave.

  


**Author's Note:**

> This might be my last fic for a while. I've got to focus on my studies, so I won't be writing as much as I usually do. 
> 
> I'd love to hear what you think though, so please leave a comment or send me an ask on tumblr: thegirlfromthesea.tumblr.com


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